Page 39 of Forgotten
“Pretty gay. Happy birthday, Ash.” James turns around and walks back into the pub.
Left alone under the snow, I take a moment to assess what just happened. Palming the front of my pants, I assume my dick is now just as confused. I wonder if Ford is here yet. I really want to kiss him now. Forget everything I wanted to talk to him about. All I want to do is kiss Ford the way James has just kissed me.
???
After freezing outside, the inside of the pub is toasty. My cheeks are burning and I barely have time to look around before I’m handed a new drink. I hadn’t even realised mine was empty.
“There you are! The birthday boy.” Ford is everywhere, then. His natural scent, his strong chest against mine, his warm hands on my back. “I’ve been looking for you,” he shouts over the crowd.
The music is louder now, somehow more people have arrived. A group of very excited people is cramped at the front of the pub, dancing and laughing. I spot Sydney and the Ireland-chicken-girl at the bar, Darshi on the phone in a corner and Prince James talking animatedly to his court. I wonder if he’s telling them toback off from the idea of us. After that kiss, I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of the idea of us myself.
All seats are taken, but Ford leads me to a table and clears it out for us. I don’t hear what he says, but he has a hard, serious expression on his face and the three people stand up to leave without argument. They all wish me a happy birthday before dispersing in the pub.
Ford waits for me to take a seat and then snuggles closer to me on the long bench, leaving the seat across the little table free. “What did I miss? Tell me everything!”
He places his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his palms, his attention completely on me. It’s intoxicating. After months of not seeing him, I struggle to believe he’s actually here. But his side is pressed to my side and his hair is curling in a whole new way and this close I could count the hairs on his arms. My heart is pounding as I start telling him everything he’s missed.
I start with Sydney and Darshi and how they have clearly been pining for each other the entire summer, but still managed to do nothing about it. Ford laughs when I describe the girl Sydney came with tonight and he agrees, she’s really not his type. Then, Ford frowns when I tell him that Darshi is currently dating someone who is her cousin but actually isn’t.
Ford simply comments, “Gross.”
He asks me how Christmas has been without family around and it is not easy to admit that I miss them, but if I was to ever admit this to anyone, it is Ford. He listens while I tell him about Martin and Edwin fighting overthe goalie position in the school’s football team and how Erik is the tallest boy in seventh grade. I don’t mention my mom and daddy directly, because I never do. Ford doesn’t ask. I don’t tell him that things have been a little better, lately. That I haven’t felt the need to silence the screams and the pounding in a while, now. My sleeves are doing a poor job of covering my scars but there is nothing fresh there. Still, I pull them down a bit. Thankfully, Ford doesn’t even notice.
I tell Ford about school. It seems stupid to share how nervous I’m about not getting the right grades to get into uni, but who else am I going to complain to? Anyone else would tell me I’m being unreasonable. After all, I’m one of the best students in my year, I have nothing to worry about. Not Ford. He listens as I nervously ramble about the English language and my essay ideas that would hopefully be enough to get into Birmingham University.
Ford doesn’t tell me that everything will go as planned. Instead he smiles at me and asks what my back-up plan is. Knowing it is Sheffield University makes him stand up abruptly and cheer out loud, then he stares at me in earnest.
“But for real. You don’t even need a back-up.”
I tell Ford about James, about our horrible date at the cinema and how I knew I had to end it before it went too far. I tell him about the kiss just a second ago, how it made me ache for more and how it made me think of him, of Ford, of kissing him again. Just like that time we kissed in the kitchen, whilst England was playing. I blame the alcohol for that confession, but Ford saysnothing. He simply smiles at me and I watch his dimples make a glorious appearance.
When I’m done, hours must have passed. My throat is hoarse and my drink is empty again and everything around me is spinning. Only Ford is perfectly still, sitting beside me.
“Do it then,” he mentions casually, and I’m not sure what we are talking about anymore. When he sees my confused look, he adds, “Kiss me.”
It takes me by surprise and I snap my head towards him. “Pardon me?”
“Well. It’s your birthday, so you get to do whatever the fuck you want. You’re eighteen now.”
I’m pretty sure it does not work like that. “I haven’t even asked you about university.” I slur the words despite my best efforts.
Ford is shaking his head. “You are so drunk, mate. You really want to hear about uni?”
He has a point, I do not want to hear about uni. I don’t want to talk any more. My stare travels from his eyes down to his nose until it reaches his lips, his perfect little cupid’s bow. The first time I kissed him, I didn’t know what I was doing. Four years later and I still have no idea what I’m doing, but now I know I want this.
“Go on then,” Ford dares, a hint of humour in his voice. His mouth moves gently as he speaks, like a breezy wave. I cannot look away and for a moment I forget where I am, I forget I’m supposed to be acting cool in front of basically the entire school. The music disappears in the background as Ford closes the spacebetween us, his lips almost brushing mine. “Fucking do it, Ash.”
It is nothing like I remember. This time I cannot seem to catch my breath as I tentatively kiss Ford, my brain in complete shutdown. The only nerves that decide to respond are the ones giving me goose bumps and an inopportune erection all too quickly. James was right. Pretty gay, indeed.
First, there’s tongue. A lot of tongue. Maybe too much tongue. I want to eat Ford whole, taste every corner of his mouth and forget about the way James kissed me earlier.
“I do want to know about uni, though,” I say against his lips.
“Really?” he asks with open eyes.
I pull back and nod sincerely, thinking that the time for kissing is over. Now it is the time for more talking and for pretending to be sober.
But Ford reaches for my lips again and my entire body melts. This time, I keep my kiss light. Little delicate pecks as Ford is cupping my face in his hands and our breaths are one breath, our heartbeats one heartbeat. I’m cold, yet I’m burning at the same time. My tongue is awkwardly heavy in my mouth, tasting like a dozen different alcoholic drinks. I find that I don’t care one bit. All I can taste is Ford. I push it inside Ford’s mouth eagerly, twirling and twisting until my tongue meets his.
